The World Is Your Playground
by NuncaNiem
Summary: Based on Reptilia28's "Don't Fear the Reaper" challenge. Harry returns, not because it's his destiny. Not because an agent of Death wants him gone from his office. It's because he can't put up with his new charge. Because Death is a bloody arse and saving everyone is just a very well worth it bonus. This time, though, he'll get the girl. Ron's fleeting fancy be damned.
1. Deal With The Devil

**The World Is Your Playground**

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 _Rules:_

 _1\. H/Hr pairing._

 _2\. Stick with the characterization showed here._

 _3\. Death cannot be killed._

 _4\. Harry cannot be killed._

 _5\. Harry cannot lose his status as Master of Death._

 _6\. As displayed, this Harry is not Light, but not purely Dark either._

 _7\. Time of arrival: between Third Year and Fifth Year, you choose._

 _8\. Yes, you can abuse Death's powers! Have fun with that!_

 _9\. Death can be a convincing actor on the event that you need him to supplant Harry for whatever reason._

 _10\. Voldemort and his Death Eaters... do as you please. And by that I mean, destroy them!_

 _11\. Unforgiving!Harry: he doesn't forgive Dumbledore when they meet at King Cross._

 _12\. Weasley bashing... purely optional._

 _13\. No weaselling out from the deal made here._

 _14\. Super!Harry, optional._

 _15\. No weird inheritence stuff._

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 **A/N:** I need this in my life. Because no one will take this little puppy, then I'll just do it myself. I can't promise too many updates, but I'll try my best. I wanted to try out Reptilia28's Challenge anyway. This is the way I do it.

 _Reptilia28's "Don't Fear the Reaper" challenge:_ I'll be the first one to admit that I took the inspiration from that little challenge. Hopefully, my story isn't so cliché.

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 **Disclaimer:** As always, don't own, never will.

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 _-Prologue-_

 _Deal With The Devil_

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"Voldemort."

A beat.

"Vol de la mort."

Another.

"Now, that's proper French, Harry. I pity the day Tom LeRiddle got to the peak of his madness. _Flee Death?_ Bah. That stupid anagram— He must have been _veeeery_ drunk when he came up with it. Yes, yes… that's it. Little bugger he is, for butchering such a respectable name like Tom. Bob the Dark Lord sounds much better, in my very humble opinion. But there's no excuse— no, no, no… No excuse for the wicked. And little Tom was a very _naughty_ boy, a trueborn villain. Yeah. And don't get me started on the other Dark Lords. Who wakes up in the morning and decides they want to conquer the world and torture a poor rabbit? Grindelwald this, Grindelwald that. He almost took over Europe. Tommy was such a whelp in comparison to those fine blokes—met Hitler, Grindelwald did—but Tom had daddy issues, don't forget, so he just had to, you know, kill his father."

A figure glided across the blank sky, the bottom line being this wasn't a sky to begin with. The specific word wasn't available in any human language, but if one had to choose one in particular, you could go with 'The Void'. Some called it 'Limbo'. Neither term was true.

Death made a loop in the air, whooping merrily when he completed the third one successfully without crashing to the ground.

He liked to pretend to be a limp pile of dusty bones when that happened.

Harry Potter, used to the being's antics, didn't look up. He had no desire to encourage them further.

Death was immortal, thus he had all eternity to mumble his musings to absolutely no one. One would pity the being, if it weren't a downright prat. The lowest of the lowest; an itch in his arse that he couldn't shake off no matter what.

But the most annoying aspect of Death was their bipolar personality.

And sure enough, with no forewarning to speak of, Death warped in front of him, but it was the image of Lord Voldemort who offered him a maniac grin. This, as unsettling as it could be to others, usually meant that he was in a playful mood.

"Tom Riddle was an absolute marvellous name, but it doesn't really match with my renewed persona, now does it, Harry?" he hissed silkily. The now he-being made to touch him with taunting fingers.

"No touching," Harry reminded him.

With a curse, Death flinched out of sight.

Harry snorted.

The entity's moody retreat proved to be more of a façade than anything else, because Harry immediately sensed Death's new position, which happened to be directly behind him.

The young wizard continued scribing in his notebook, nevertheless.

"Paradoxes," Death began with their ethereal tones, "are one of a kind."

The sound of a page turning.

"Oh, time does have its redundancies, of course, but it doesn't stand for them." _They_ were suddenly a _she_ and Harry froze in anger. Death knew which buttons to press and Hermione was one of them. The mere sound of her caused him physical pain, product of much anger and longing. "Surely, you must have heard of the Ouroboros? In Greek mythology, this giant snake is an ancient symbol which depicts cyclicality, or re-creation itself. Applied to time, this line of philosophy reached a very startling conclusion, one which is only surprising by its simplistic nature: time refers to itself, loves to repeat history as mankind knows it. Mistake after mistake… Crumbling civilizations topple pathetically one after the other… Worse still, the historical records humanity has managed to preserve so far prove that this theory has some truth to it: why, muggles did indeed pursue those of magical blood once they were aware of their existence, did they not? Only this time, they weren't grabbing torches and spears, but instead went entirely nuclear."

Mocking him, as always.

"Yes, the Witch Burnings… Those must have been enjoyable times for you," Harry said, frost covering every inflection of his response. He didn't turn for fear of what he would find there.

"Nuclear warfare is much better," Death sounded rather wistful. " _Destruction and chaos. Deterioration and mutation…"_

Death was at home midst the suffering.

The Master of Death shuddered. "Figures it would appeal to you," Harry snapped, closing his notebook shut. His eyes would have made Voldemort think twice before engaging in battle with the Boy Who Lived.

"War is a beautiful, _beautiful_ thing, Master… A gift from the gods-"

"Don't you _ever_ use her," he hissed. "Even less if you're going to put those filthy words in her mouth!"

"Why you must restrict me so, Harry?" Death bemoaned. They were Dumbledore now.

Harry's fist shook with tension as he turned around. Death's disguise was impeccable as ever, down to those thrice damned twinkly eyes.

Somewhere in his subconscious, he bristled as soon as he saw his old mentor.

"It comes with the job description," Harry said dryly, "though I'd rather not have met you, ever, if possible."

" _It was only when he had attained a great age that the youngest brother finally took off the Cloak of Invisibility and gave it to his son. And then he greeted Death as an old friend, and went with him gladly, and, equals, they departed this life_ (1)," Death proclaimed solemnly and then broke into outrageous laughter.

Harry had never looked more unimpressed in his life. Not that he was entirely in the world of the living anymore.

Death never neglected to mention his ancestor and his recurring tale for countless of times. He and his brothers on a desperate race against Death… There was no lingering effect now.

"I get it," he said, "Laugh it up, see where that gets you."

Immediately, Dumbledore's countenance snapped back to seriousness.

"Harry Potter," Death breathed, "everyone must face Death once their time on Earth is over."

"I want to die, yet still here I am," Harry smirked.

"Ah, yes," Death hissed with venom. He strode forward, Dumbledore's eccentric robes trailing behind like loveable hounds. Death reached for the Gaunt Ring only to be repelled instants later.

Death's disguise dropped as they cradled their hand. Lacking any discernible form with the exception of the blackness of their shadows, the effect was quite perturbing.

In the event that Death pursued the retrieval of his long-lost creations, the same would occur with his Cloak or Antioch's Wand.

"The three _objects_ …" Death spat, "Together, at last."

"You were tricked by the three brothers," Harry muttered softly, "and these are the consequences of your actions."

 _Enslaved for eternity…_

 _… to his unwilling Master._

Death seemed to bristle- impossible to tell without any appearance to speak of- before settling for a form both were intrinsically familiar with.

Himself.

"Rub it in, why won't you," Death mocked, sticking out his _long, long_ tongue in an effort to appear more childish.

Harry rolled his eyes. Death made an awkward adult.

"It's the only subject that you won't laugh at. Of course I'll remind you of your blunder every time I can."

Death glared at him. His irises were impossibly darker than his own, almost pits of pure darkness.

"So," Harry said, "back to the matter at hand." He waved his notebook emphatically. "Time travel."

"Pointless," Death drawled immediately. "Boring. Blooming cack."

Harry frowned. "Explain," he ordered.

Death straightened at the order. "Done, attempted and thought of countless of times," he said, kicking inexistent rocks with his boots. "I must say, what you lack with age, you don't compensate with originality, Master." (2)

"Let me sweeten the pot for you then," Harry said, thinking quickly. "If I go back in time"- because Death existed in all planes and at all times, making any effort to transport them along him incredibly redundant- "and I achieve my goal, I will order you to make me pass away when we are old." Death didn't outwardly react, but he could feel the being's excitement through their connection.

"You'll be masterless once more," Harry concluded with finality and the words carried to The Void, echoing around them.

Death licked his lips. "The objects will be returned to me."

"You may have them, except for the Cloak," Harry compromised.

Death bared his teeth threateningly. "The Cloak is my own!"

"You may never touch the Cloak nor trick anyone into giving it to you," Harry narrowed his eyes, focusing his powers as Death's Master in that single sentence. He knew better than to allow him completely free reign over the universe; it may not survive the catastrophe the next day. "Even if someone is stupid enough to hand it over to you willingly, you _will_ reject it. The same goes if you stumble upon it on accident or if you actively seek it."

The embodiment of Death struggled vainly against the imposed order, trembling with outrage when he couldn't break free.

"Understood," Death hissed with such roughness that made Harry wonder if he had spoken in Parseltongue.

"Good," Harry nodded.

"As per agreement," he said as continuation, "you or any of your agents may not plot against me or mine, in any existential state, whether they be blood or bound to me by other means."

"Would never dream of it," Death uttered silkily, showing all teeth. A brutal glint appeared in his eye. "But your enemies, Master, are to be branded forever as my fucktoys."

Harry, who blinked rapidly in surprise, raised his both his eyebrows in disbelief.

Death laughed wickedly, making no effort to reveal what he had in mind for the to-be-doomed.

It was best that way, Harry reasoned warily. His mind alone could be cruel sometimes, but Death was on another whole level of his own.

"So… Do we have a deal?" he asked, extending his arm to sign the end of the contract.

Death grinned widely, striding confidently up to him and meeting him with a firm handshake. Magic started crackling up a storm as soon as their hands touched.

"Ah, Harry Potter," the being still wearing his body like a suit spoke with eerie graveness, his lips twitching upwards as Death seemed to age backwards in front of his eyes. Avada Kedavra green glowed with power as they stared each other down. "Do not worry. We do have a binding accord."

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(1) Taken from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, property of J.K. Rowling.

(2) A jab at the recurring theme: 'Harry goes back in time'. Do not be mistaken, this is no mere Reaper. This is Death we are talking about. Hopefully, this will refresh the idea.


	2. Dragon Bait

_-Omake-_

 _Dragon Bait_

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 **A/N:** I dunno why, but this has elements of crack? I don't understand my own characters sometimes.

Thank you to all of the wonderful people who commented, are following and favoured this story! :D The support is heart-warming!

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 **Disclaimer:** Yeah. No.

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Harry knew he was in trouble when he saw the huge dragon baring its teeth at him and a clutch of eggs lying at its feet.

A mother dragon.

His eyes flew wide open with realization as his ears picked up the thunderous roar of students cheering the creature on. Few had the presence of mind to actually support the unwiling champion who was stranded in the arena.

First Task.

Harry's heart jumped to his throat.

With a deafening roar, the Hungarian Horntail opened its jaws wide and the now-very-possibly teen wasted two precious seconds staring disbelievingly at the scorching force—building and building threateningly inside the belly of the huge lizard which was after his life. First orange in intensity, then yellower in colour and whitening even further—

"Witches and wizard-men, operation one extra crispy human is a go! Kudos to the mother hen dragon for successfully achieving the impossible! Frying alive the one and only: the Bloody. _Boy. Who. Lived!"_ Death hissed into his ear with vicious glee.

It was that more than anything that snapped him out from his dizzy spell. Harry dived for the shelter of a nearby rock, wincing when he felt the flames beginning to melt through it.

Uncaring of his discomfort, Death yawned in boredom next to him.

The Master of Death glared daggers at the cheeky bastard who had put him there without his permission. Luckily Death was almost invisible to the naked eye, so probably no one was capable of seeing him there with him.

Still, he was furious. "You bloody sack of dragon dun-!"

"Ah, ah, ah!" Death swung a bony finger in his face. "Poisonous toadstools don't change their spots, Harry! (1) You never specified when you wanted to appear! Plus, there's no good fun in being absolutely prepared, you stupid whelp."

Fun? Harry wanted to throttle him right there. _He'd show him fun—_

"Harry, your broom!" Harry started, his chest cavity contracting rather painfully at the sound of Hermione's panicked call. "Summon your broom!"

Because _Hermione._

Oh, Merlin. How he'd missed her. Last time he'd seen her, her body was cooling and nothing remained of her but her lifeless body.

Bellatrix had gotten her with a lucky shot. Another thing he had against that hag.

Recalling the feel of her cold hand within his, Harry wanted nothing more than to flung himself into the stands and emulate his best friend in that moment, giving her his own version of a bone-crushing hug—or even better, pulling her into a searing kiss sounded like a bloody brilliant idea. Best he had in a long time, really. But, unfortunately, the huge gouges in the stone ground were presently part of a bigger problem than just his unquenchable desire for Hermione Granger.

"Get me out of here," Harry hissed angrily. He wasn't in the mood to outfly a bloody dragon.

The ever infuriating being he was bound to feigned getting some wax out of his ear. "Sorry, you said something?"

 _"Death—"_

"I prefer the name Albert, you know."

Whatever retort he had prepared had to wait, for the dragon had grown tired of Harry's games and was about to blurt its usual spiel of fireworks again. Which just happened to be extremely dangerous, even to an overpowered wizard like him.

Harry knew his time was up.

"Holy buggering Merlin fuck— _Accio Firebolt!"_ he shouted desperately.

His broom was in his hands in an instant. Having the distinct advantage of being more in tune with his (ridiculously massive) core compared to his fourteen-year-old self, he had the broom zooming into the arena in a blast of speed that had people in the stands reeling back in their seats from the sheer backlash. And being the unfortunate sod he was, Draco Malfoy just had to be standing. The Malfoy scion tipped over the ledge, directly into the range of the dragon's passing fire. The resulting screams of terror from Bagman and everyone in the vicinity were lost to Harry, who was in the process of outrunning the same fire which had roasted Malfoy alive.

In a direct contrast with the urgency of the overall situation, Death floated idly, lying spread-eagled over the racing teenager as they examined their perfectly-manicured nails.

"I reckon you could use some help, Master," the she-Death stated, although there was a tilt that made the sentence into a tentative question.

Harry soared upward just in time to avoid a brutal swipe from the dragon's tail, vexed by the fact that Death had no troubles in following him while he was doing his hardest not to get caught in the flames.

 _"_ _You think?"_ he yelled at her.

Not-Fleur sighed in faux melancholy. "Temper, temper… what do they teach youngsters these days, I wonder?"

She snapped her fingers.

The world froze.

Harry was still moving, however. But the air felt stale, as if it was pushing against him before it yielded to his speed reluctantly. His hair moved limply, unsure of the correct pattern the wind should have swirled it with the currents.

Noticing the abnormal change around him, Harry chanced a peep over his shoulder—and couldn't help but stop in his tracks due to the surprise.

He gaped.

Harry was staring wide-eyed at the sight of the terrifying Hungarian Horntail still directing its flames in his direction, but neglecting to turn its neck—not even twitching or breathing, there was no doubt that the dragon was still alive and very much irritated with the seemingly young champion who had dared to enter in her territory to steal from her clutch. The gleam of the golden egg too seemed frozen in time. In fact, every bloody thing was stuck in place rather unnaturally.

With dawning horror, he noticed a couple of smoking bodies littering grossly the perimeter of the arena.

"Death," he said faintly.

"What's that, Harry?" Death joined him eagerly, like a dog waving its tail at his owner. "Do you like it? I did this especially for you."

"You could have stopped time anytime you wanted?" he choked out.

"Sure did, mate," Death nodded eagerly. The voice of Ronald Weasley made him nauseous. It was so out of place, so off putting— "But like I said, there's no fun in that. Bloody hell, you sure like to brush with me, mate. It's kinda like having a demented cat rubbing all over me." The freckled face of the redhead grew green. "I know that you like me a little too much, Master, but it's somewhat obnoxious at this point. You have to learn to control your bodies ur—"

 _"_ Wait. _What do you mean you could have stopped time? Why did you have to drop me here of all places and times!? WHY IN THE FUCKING HELLS DID IT HAVE TO BE ME FACING A BLOODY DRAGON AGAIN!"_ Harry exploded.

"Oh, you'd prefer your fifth year instead?"

Harry's closed fists twitched violently and the teenager dismounted his broom. Death's face was making him so mad… Didn't help it was Ron… or appeared to be Ron...

He decked Death in the face.

Unused to violence against him, Death crumpled to the ground unceremoniously, holding his crooked nose, which had taken most of the brunt of the hit. Because he was wearing a human disguise, a thin river of blood started dripping from his sinuses.

At first, Death stared dumbly at the red liquid. For a being who went agog over humankind's daily suffering, the personification of death didn't seem to take well the pain, was Harry's first thought.

The one that followed after that, however…

Death eyes were pure obsidian with rage when they looked up.

I mucked up, some part of him whimpered.

"Next stop, Voldemort's grand ritual," Death grinned savagely at him.

He snapped his fingers again.

Dread pooled deep in his stomach. Harry didn't even have the time to issue an order against which would counteract what Death was planning to do. One moment, he was facing Death; the other, he was looking at a freshly resurrected Lord Voldemort smirking into his eyes.

The gloom of a graveyard extended around them.

 _"_ _Crucio!"_ Voldemort simpered with glee.

Harry had only revisited that night through his dreams— the ugliest, murkiest ones he had after a very bad day—, but whatever his imagination had cooked up for his nightmares, it didn't even begin to hold a candle to the true definition of pain that was striking him in that precise moment.

His body was out of his control now, muscles contracting and distending unnaturally, seemingly with a mind of their own, and with a spark of growing Fiendfyre growing and devouring his very being mercilessly.

He couldn't think. He couldn't think past the pain, the need of being rescued, the need for it to…

 _"_ _Stop!"_ he mouthed.

That was enough.

There was a somber crack that echoed midst the tombstones—a deadly silence descended on the cemetery. Quite the overwhelming contrast, when moments ago you couldn't think over the sound of your own screams. Harry curled on the ground, tears trekking down his face at the absence of pain, but all the same very confused by the chance of being able to _be_ in the presence of Voldemort.

Harry glanced up—he had to work up the courage to do it. Irrationally, there was a part of him that feared that he would be put under the curse the moment he did.

He did it anyways.

Harry watched Lord Voldemort—wand aimed at him, a feral smirk on the lips, inhuman red eyes glinting in victory—only it wasn't right, because Voldemort was supposed to be looking at him as he took enjoy in causing him physical pain. Instead, Tom's reptile-like face was tilting ever so slightly sideways—no, _down, not sideways_ — and the head looked how a cheap puppet would be like with its strings cut. Hanging limply.

"Potter," he heard Lucius Malfoy sputter.

Only then did Harry notice Death, looking like him, staring down at him with a neutral face from behind the still upright corpse of his archenemy.

"Shut it, Malfoy," he heard him say before he wrenched on the air. A sick squelch carried over to where he was lying, followed by what could only be Lucius' face flying towards Death's outstretched hand.

Harry swallowed the bile he could taste in his mouth.

It was a pathetically one-sided battle. The Death Eaters had no chance against him. The most daring of the bunch started firing spells, but when the most cowardly ones tried to apparate away, they stayed; ironically, the bloody wards Voldemort had erected prevented his minions' escape just as perfectly as they would have worked on him.

The bloodbath was over in a matter of seconds, but the trauma couldn't be denied.

Death's pools of obsidian were still locked with his.

"Never make me mad, Harry Potter," Death breathed. He let the face of Lucius Malfoy drop to the ground, where he stepped on the back of it with his boots.

As if to prove a point, the bodies of the recently deceased dropped to the ground as one. For Death, that probably was his way to make a statement.

Harry glowered darkly at the being and quickly climbed back to his feet using his shaking limbs. The Cruciatus remained as one of the most vicious curses in existence, even with all the knowledge he had stored in his head in his years in Limbo.

"You broke the clauses of our contract," he hissed, alarmed, fearful and so bloody angry with the traitor before him.

"If you remember well, Master," Death drawled, "I've never plotted against you. This"—he gestured at the graveyard—"was a spur of the moment thing. But it served well in reminding you of your real standing with me."

"Which is?" Harry's voice shook.

"If I'm miserable with this arrangement, then so are you," he stated simply. The blackness of Death's eyes didn't recede. "If I'm bloody well unsatisfied by what I'm forced to do for you, Master, then I'll try my hardest to make my reluctance known."

Harry didn't start shaking; he didn't gulp in fear or take a step back. But he really wanted to. Merlin, how he wanted to.

Surprisingly, the aftereffects of the Cruciatus, painful as they were, helped him keep his cool.

"You won't do it again," Harry commanded him, summoning all of what made him Gryffindor and making an effort to channel that aspect of his personality in those simple words. "You won't hurt me again. Never. No matter what. Not my friends, not my children, not anyone I hold dear to my heart. You're meant to protect me, not mean me harm. If you are not going to cooperate, then you have another thing coming: I am still your Master, Death, and as much as it pains you, _you_ bow down _to me."_

Death hunched his shoulders under the weight of his words.

"Let's start again," Harry proposed, pushing his resentment far into the corners of his mind where it wouldn't disturb him. He pointedly didn't look at any of the bodies Death had left in his wake, although he was sure that Voldemort's head hanging limply like that would haunt him forever, even if the bloody tosser had deserved it. "I say the place and the time of arrival."

Death simply nodded.

Harry sighed deeply, thinking. "I want to prevent Cedric from dying."

"I'll simply revive him," Death retorted calmly, "problem solved. No Voldemort either."

"Can you do that with every student who died in the stands in the First Task?" Harry looked at him knowingly.

Death growled something under his breath. "No," he finally admitted, "I can't. It would disturb the balance greatly. Although… this timeline is already unsustainable. It will soon break apart after this encounter with your precious Death Eaters. There's a limit to how many relevant people can die in a day. We'd run out characters otherwise."

"So we start again."

Death grunted and looked away.

Harry came to a decision. "Same year," he said. "Give me some bloody time to prepare. Don't dump me in the middle of the lake or any nonsense like that. That surprise with the dragon wasn't funny."

Death chuckled. "It was to me," he said, grinning.

"Oh, yeah?" Harry arched one of his eyebrows. His Slytherin side was making an appearance, vicious and shrewd as ever. "How about _you_ do that Task without any of your fancy powers at your disposal?"

Death glared at his Master.

"You wouldn't dare," he gritted out through his teeth.

"I would," Harry said easily, "And I'm doing it."

Unable to complain, Death only groaned loudly into his hands.

The fun started here, Harry inwardly smirked.

Punishment time.

* * *

(1) Means that certain aspects of your character or the character of others can't be changed.

Yes. I totally broke the fourth wall. Because reasons.

And yeah. I went there.


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